Petty Theft
by tider58
Summary: Spike and Dawn friendship ficlet 3. Dawn's been feeling overshadowed, and she misses her best friend.


**_This is the third of my Spike and Dawn friendship ficlets. (See "Always Been Bad" and "Safe with Evil" in my bio for the other two). Same old disclaimer, there's no Spawn here. Please let me know what you think. I've got a couple of others in my mind if you like these. Thanks for the reviews on the other two._**

xxx

"I can't _believe_ you did that."

Spike tossed a glance over his shoulder at the girl who trailed behind him. "What'd you expect me to do, Bit?"

"I don't know. Not … _that! _Did you have to go all vampy on the poor old man? You scared the crap out of him."

"Would you rather I'd've let the bloody shopkeeper call the cops and haul your ass down to some holding cell until they could reach Buffy? Dealing with this kind of adolescent crap is the last thing she needs."

Long pause. "Oh."

Spike rolled his eyes, knowing full-well where this road would lead. "Fuck's sake, _what?_"

"Oh … You did it for _her_."

"Dawn, my sweet," he said, trying and failing to keep the irritation from his voice. "You called, I came. As _always_. I fixed it, didn't I? Even lied to your sister so she wouldn't catch on. What more do you want from me?"

"I don't know, a little concern for _my_ well-being for a change? That would be nice. You used to care—"

He whirled around and pinned her with an icy stare. "It _used to_ be easier to care!"

"Before you got so obsessed with boinking my recently undead sister," Dawn shot back.

"No," he snapped, "before _you_ became such an insolent, petulant, attention-whoring juvenile delinquent hell-bent on making Buffy hate me more than she already does by putting me in the position of lying to her so she doesn't find out her sweet baby sis is a petty thief. And not a very bright one, at that."

"Excuse me? What's that supposed to mean?"

"Got caught, didn't you?"

"Well, I'm sorry I'm not as adept at larceny as _some_ people. Maybe because I haven't been doing it for a hundred freakin' years!"

He pointed a threatening finger in her face for emphasis, but she didn't flinch. "And you won't have a chance to get good at it, because this ends _now_, do you hear? I won't cover for you again. Next time you're on your own … on second thought, there had better not _be_ a next time."

"Well, listen to William the Bloody, getting all righteous and moraly," she said, dripping sarcasm. "Careful, you could give Angel a run for his money."

Spike clenched his teeth, wondering how on earth this child who knew how to push all his buttons was even still alive to tell about it.

"Shut your mouth and keep walking. I'm getting you home before you make me do something that'll give me a bitch of a headache."

Dawn sighed, defeated, as they continued down the darkened street toward her house. Vaguely, she wondered if the poor old man who had caught her smuggling the black leather gloves from his boutique was all right. When Spike had gone into vamp face and snarled at him, the man sure hadn't _looked_ like he would be all right. He looked like he was on the verge of a heart attack, and the last thing Dawn saw as Spike dragged her out of the store by her collar was his horrified features as he groped blindly for something to support his weight before he collapsed in a dead faint. Hm. He must not have lived in Sunnydale very long.

Oh yeah, the gloves. They were still in her jacket pocket. The shopkeeper had insisted he'd seen her take them, but Dawn stubbornly refused to turn out her pockets and prove her guilt. Thus the stalemate that had led to his demand that she call her "parents" to come and get her. She had dialed her home number herself, and was beyond relieved when Willow, not Buffy, answered. Spike was still at the house, where he had been with the Scoobies when Dawn had left earlier that evening, all of them gathered in the living room discussing some new malevolent force they planned to put down. Luckily, the meeting had been a long one, and Willow didn't seem suspicious as to why Dawn was calling for him.

"Yeah?" Spike's voice, clipped and wary, came on the line.

"I need you."

"What's wrong?" he asked, and she could sense the intensity, the almost palpable shift in demeanor as his protectiveness flared.

"I need you to come and get me, and not—well, Buffy doesn't, um—" Dawn trailed off as she met the old man's suspicious gaze. Spike understood what she was saying, though, as he always did.

"Right. Where?"

He'd appeared in ten minutes flat, though it should have taken him at least fifteen. Dawn had been so relieved to see him, her knight in black leather, that she almost forgot to be angry with him. For weeks she had been studiously ignoring him, sniping at him when the opportunities arose and secretly heartbroken every time he didn't respond in kind. She was becoming a shadow in the harsh brightness of Buffy in all her resurrected glory, and, happy as Dawn was to have her sister back, a part of her resented the loss of his undivided adoration.

And tonight, he had come to her rescue. But he hadn't done it for her, he'd done it for Buffy. Always for Buffy.

"You want these?" she asked solemnly now, directing her words to his back as they continued down Revello Drive. "I got the wrong size by mistake. They're too big for me."

He glanced exasperatedly at the offering in her outstretched hand. "Oh, bloody hell, Bit."

"What? I forgot to leave them behind in all the excitement. You know, fangs and bumpiness and scaring an old man to death and all. You want 'em or not?"

"I want no part of your illicit hobby."

"You gonna tell Buffy?"

"Told you I wouldn't."

"Why not?"

He shot her an irritated look. "Because she'd skin you alive."

"Actually, she wouldn't. Actually, she'd more than likely be a big mess of not caring. But she _would_ be mad at _you_ for bringing something to her attention that she'd be expected to deal with. And dealing? Not really her thing these days."

He grunted in agreement.

Dawn paused thoughtfully. "Then again … maybe it would be good for her to have to deal."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "What are you on about?"

"Well, she couldn't ignore this, even if she wanted to. Right?"

"Point, Niblet. Get there."

"I think I'll confess."

"I think you won't."

"Why? Are you scared of Buffy's wrath?"

He turned around and took Dawn by the elbow, tugging her a few steps closer. "I'm not scared of a goddam thing, and you know it. You tell her if that's what you want to do. But know this. I'm not backing you up, and I'm not going to be your scapegoat, in case you're hoping to stir up shit between Buffy and me. I won't have you trying to manipulate me, little girl."

Dawn shook free of his grasp and sighed. It seemed the only emotion she could elicit from him these days was irritation in three forms: mild, moderate, and severe. God, how she missed their easy banter, the airtight bond they'd forged over the summer of grief they'd spent in each other's company. God, how she missed _him_. And she was tired of bratting her way into attention that used to be hers for the taking.

"They should never have brought her back," she mumbled, so low only a vampire's super-sensitive ears could have picked it up.

That worked. He stopped walking and turned to focus his intense blue eyes on her. "Why would you say that?" he demanded, his voice low but sharp.

"She doesn't want to be here."

He considered, then decided it was ridiculous to argue the point. "No, she doesn't."

"She hates us for it, I think."

He looked surprised at that, and then, finally, his gaze softened. "Bit, no. She doesn't hate you. Not you."

"Then why won't she even look at me? She blames me for dying when it was my place, and she hates me for wanting her back … and for not being satisfied with what she can give us now that she is."

At last, at long last, Spike drew her into his arms. His embrace was so comfortable, familiar, unaccountably warm for someone whose essential being was so cool. Dawn let the tears that had formed in her eyes slip down her cheeks as he held her, shushed her, rocked her slightly back and forth on the shadowy sidewalk in front of her warmly lit house.

Spike realized, reluctantly, that he had missed this, missed being a touchstone for this emotionally draining, infuriating, damning, loving, mind-boggling, overwhelming child. Which meant she was right. He _had_ been ignoring her. Bugger.

When she finally pulled back and looked up at him, heartbreakingly grateful for the simple gesture, he wiped the leftover tears from her face with his thumbs, wondering how he could show her he was sorry. He'd never been good with apologies. Bruised the image, they did.

"All right," he said, clearing his throat and standing up straighter, all business. "Inside with you. You've got some confessing to do."

Dawn looked at him, surprised. "But … what?"

"You heard me. You're going to march into that house right now and tell Buffy what you've been up to. Tonight, and the other times. I'm not keeping any of it from her anymore."

Perplexed, but strangely hopeful, Dawn raised her eyes up to his. "I thought you said she doesn't need this."

"Yeah, well, so what? _You_ do. I keep bailing you out, letting you get away with this petty shit, it'll only get worse, and I won't have that."

"Buffy's probably going to be more mad at you than me," Dawn warned. "You ready for that?"

"I can hold my own with the Slayer, you better believe it. I've been on the receiving end of her bitching sessions many times before, what's one more?"

Dawn hesitated at the front door, turning to look at him. "You sure about this?"

He smiled slightly. "For your own good, Bit."

Her eyes suddenly twinkling, she leaned up and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Thanks, Spike," she said. Then, with her best teasing smirk, she added, "I love you too."

They went inside to face their fate.


End file.
